


When Once We Thought Ourselves Broken

by pherryt



Series: Clint Barton Bingo [6]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ace!Bucky, Canon Divergent, First Kiss, Hawk - Freeform, Hopeful Ending, Light Angst, Low Self Esteem, M/M, Panic Attacks, Soulmate marks, Soulmates, alternating pov, bingo fills, deaf!Clint, hurt!Clint, mute!bucky, partially mute bucky, post winter soldier, side sam/steve, wolf - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 03:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19737085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt
Summary: Clint's soulmate mark had never worked right, blinking on and off since the day he'd been born.Bucky was broken in more ways than most people knew, except maybe Steve, even before he'd headed off to war and HYDRA had gotten their hands on him.Everything finally makes sense when they come together.





	When Once We Thought Ourselves Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Clint Barton Bingo: Soulmates  
> Bucky Barnes Bingo: Asexual
> 
> this one tried to get away from me.... whoops.
> 
> heads up - alternating POV's - the switch is made at every <~~~~~*<<^^o^^0^^>>*~~~~>
> 
> also, titles are hard. again. as usual.

One could say that that Bucky was overcompensating.

All those girls he took out, day after day, trying to feel normal, when the closest to normal he’d ever felt was around Steve – who didn’t push, didn’t pry, just let Bucky be.

Steve overcompensated too, in so many ways, tired of being seen as the little guy, tired of being seen as not worth anybody’s time.

It was a cross they both bore, though on opposite ends of the spectrum: Bucky was trying to keep up appearances, Steve was trying to prove they shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

So yeah, Bucky and Steve had turned to each other for comfort more than once. Bucky had felt more for Steve then he ever had for anyone else and sometimes he didn’t think he ever would.

But Steve wasn’t Bucky’s soulmate, and Bucky wasn’t his. That was driven in, day after day after day, when their marks didn’t flare to life, to color, to _move_ when they touched each other. In fact, Bucky’s mark was as still as a grave.

So was Steve’s, so at least he wasn’t alone in that. But it wasn’t something he would ever have wished on his best friend and instead of relieved, he felt guilty for ever thinking ‘ _at least I’m not alone’_.

And when Bucky was drafted, he knew his chance of ever meeting his soulmate had just been obliterated.

Maybe that’s why his mark had never moved. The wolf sat still, not a hair out of place, not a peak of color, absolutely unmoving on Bucky’s right arm.

His soulmate must have died before Bucky had met them.

But maybe that was for the best, because Bucky was broken anyhow. Even that sometimes thing with Steve – it was more of a comfort, a reassurance that he _could_ feel sexual desire.

Sometimes.

But try as he might, the dames didn’t attract more than his eye, the fellas – as risky as that was – did no more than leave him appreciative.

Sometimes, he wondered if he didn’t have a soulmate because he was broken, or if he was broken because he didn’t have a soulmate.

Then again, Steve didn’t seem to have the same problem… so maybe Bucky was just broken.

Then he fell, and HYDRA got ahold of him, and he was more than broken, Bucky had been shattered and he didn’t think he’d _ever_ get the pieces of himself back together.

<~~~~~*<<^^o^^0^^>>*~~~~>

Clint had the strangest soulmate mark he’d ever seen on a person.

Everyone had one, of course - a symbol of some sort, grayed out upon their skins, a faded image. They were born with it, a symbol somewhere upon their arms, usually an animal or creature of some kind living in a shifting landscape – only it didn’t shift until the mark came alive.

When it did that, when the mark activated, the image shifted in tiny increments if their other half had also been born, no matter how far away they may be. The closer you got to your soulmate, the more active it would become – a vibrant swirl that flew over the skin, growing, till it covered the arm like a sleeve instead of a patch. The further away you got, the more it drifted, and wilted – but it never went away completely, the color never washing out entirely, not once it started.

It would simply shiver in place, the colors dotting in and out – first one then another - but never quite gone.

His was weird because it _would_ come alive – and then it would stop, like it had never been. Years at a time, his mark – a hawk – would grow dormant.

But when it _was_ awake, it was beautiful, the hawk swooping and flying through an everchanging sky over a small valley. It looked as if the hawk was _looking_ for something.

And then the hawk would land on a branch and grow still as a statue and the valley would cover over in ice; the mark would wilt and the hawk would remain frozen on Clint’s arm.

It was heartbreaking and sure sign that _something_ was wrong. He’d born many an insult or well-meaning platitude over the years and he’d never been able to decide which, in fact, was worse. He’d had more than one doctor or nurse or scientist try to ‘understand’ what was wrong with his mark and Clint did his best to keep Tony in the dark about it. His lack of a soulmate wasn’t a puzzle he needed Tony Stark poking his nose into.

None of that had made a difference in the past, so genius or not, why would that suddenly change? So after the first few times his hopes had been dashed, Clint had figured it was a sign that he wasn’t meant to have a soulmate and that his mark was malfunctioning.

That he’d done too much wrong in his life and didn’t deserve a soulmate, though he _knew_ that wasn’t how soulmates worked.

He’d seen plenty of bad people out there with soulmates to know that wasn’t the truth. His father had been one of them.

Nowadays, Clint didn’t even bother looking at the hawk anymore. He checked on it in the shower on reflex because it was gorgeous, but it filled him with longing, his heart aching for what he couldn’t have, and he’d carefully cover it the rest of the day.

Nobody even knew what his mark looked like, except Natasha, and only because he’d been injured.

Okay, perhaps a few doctors and nurses too, but they didn’t count.

Point was, Clint’s mark was broken and he’d given up on ever finding his soulmate and he didn’t want his teammates to pity him.

It was hard enough, sometimes, being the only ‘normal’ among a group of exceptional individuals. He didn’t have super serum running through his veins or a genius level intellect, nor was he a god.

Still, he held his own with his unique, hard earned skills, despite his… _handicaps_.

 _Whatever,_ he thought, yawning as he padded into the kitchen of Stark Tower. He’d been out late last night, making the final leg of his journey back to the tower after SHIELD had gone down. He’d been caught with his pants down – almost literally, the seams having ripped after a bad landing from a ‘controlled’ fall off a rooftop – on a mission halfway around the world when it had happened and getting home had become his number one priority.

Because the tower had become home. He was still a little flabbergasted as to how, still unsure how well he actually _fit in,_ but there he was.

So sure, he _could_ have hit up any number of safe houses he _knew_ hadn’t been compromised (don’t look at him like that, he didn’t tell SHIELD _all_ his secrets and neither had Nat – they were _spies_ after all) but it was more important to get back to the new family he’d found with the rest of the Avengers and make sure everyone was okay.

He was beyond pissed that he’d been away, unable to help, and though it was far too late for that, he _needed_ to get back and check on his teammates. He’d only gotten in last night and he hadn’t even seen anybody yet though JARVIS had insisted that everyone but Thor was there and accounted for.

With that reassurance, Clint had allowed himself to fall into bed, fully intent on seeing for himself in person the next morning.

JARVIS had woken him, as he’d requested, by flashing lights and a rumble deep enough to rattle his bones until he rolled out of bed.

His feet and hands worked on automatic, crossing the kitchen to the coffeepot and pouring out a mug and downing half of it before he even realized the kitchen was already occupied. That was nothing new, but then he choked.

“Who the fuck is that?” Clint asked. Steve was leaning against the counter casually, a sheepish look on his face. Beside him was a stranger with long, dark brown hair that fell over his face in unkempt, greasy waves, hiding his eyes. The skin was pale, the clothes dark and ill fitting and his motions were nervous little ticks of energy that looked ready to bolt.

Still, there was something a little familiar about him…

“Ah, Clint, this is Bucky. Buck, this is Clint,” Steve said, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Clint blinked. “Bucky? As in, World War 2, childhood best friend, James Buchanan Barnes – _that_ Bucky?”

Steve nodded. “Yes, exactly. Say hello, Buck,” Steve said, nudging Bucky with his shoulder. Bucky didn’t move, didn’t flinch aside from the fine tremble Clint had already noted. If he was looking at Clint, Clint couldn’t tell with that hair in the way, but he had a feeling he was.

Bucky grunted, his hands wrapped tightly around a mug as if it were a lifeline. He shook back his hair to take a sip, and Clint’s breath caught.

Yeah, he’d have recognized this man anywhere, even without an introduction and despite the now long hair or the pallor of his skin or the haunted eyes.

“So uh, nice to meet ya,” Clint said. “Fancy seeing you here, ‘roundabout 70 years later. How’d you manage that? Wait, we didn’t dig you up in Antarctica or something, did we? We having a special – World War 2 heroes on ice?”

Something flashed in Bucky’s eyes, something filled with pain and – oh, okay. This was probably _not_ a good topic. Clint needed more coffee so he didn’t continue to say dumb shit. Then again… Clint was always saying dumb shit, coffee or not. Or maybe he hadn’t reached the level of awake that coffee could give him to prevent stupid words from coming out of his mouth.

He was willing to test that theory. Drinking coffee was _no_ hardship for him.

“HYDRA,” Steve said, pulling Clint out of his scattered thoughts. Bucky flashed him a sharp, quelling look. Steve sighed. “It’s already all over the news, Buck.”

“So let him watch the news,” Bucky said, his voice broken and gravelly and so damn small, Clint’s aids almost didn’t pick up the words, Bucky’s voice almost a meaningless sound, so choppy and abrupt, it was almost as if he were unused to speaking.

“Eh, don’t mind me. He doesn’t wanna talk about it, he doesn’t wanna talk about it.” Clint raised his mug and found it empty. “Aww, coffee, no…”

Steve chuckled. “There’s more, Clint.”

“Yes!” Clint crowed, reaching for the pot once more and filling up his mug. “Okay, so I can see you’re okay, but then, you’re Captain America, so of course you’re okay. What was I thinking? So, I’m gonna go find Nat next and check on her.” He took a few steps and halted, turning back. “Oh, hey Steve, um… how do I report in now that, well, everything’s been smashed to pieces? Cause I should probably do that too, at some point? I guess?”

Steve – and strangely enough, Bucky too – blanched, Bucky even looking away, guilt running over his face. “I don’t actually know. We’re still working that bit out. I could call a meeting later with Fury and Hill?”

“Sure, just let me know. I might go back to my rooms and veg a bit, or I might go down to the range. Or maybe I’ll just go back to bed. I could sleep for a week…” Clint said, walking backwards through the doors.

Right, find Nat, grill her about the new guy. Find out how Bucky had wound up here, 70 years later, looking like that.

<~~~~~*<<^^o^^0^^>>*~~~~>

“You doing okay?” Steve asked Bucky.

Bucky shrugged. The archer – he’d recognized Clint from files he didn’t even _remember_ reading – had been a small whirlwind, a presence he couldn’t quite ignore but he’d been… harmless. No… respectful. He’d looked… understanding when Bucky had showed his reticence about talking about a past he couldn’t remember, the bits he did more painful than he _wanted_ to remember, and that was a relief compared to every other damn person in this godforsaken monstrosity of a building.

Seriously, it was too big and too empty and Bucky felt like he could exist there for days without seeing a single person – if only Steve would _let_ him. Which was why Bucky had insisted he get his own room when Steve had suggested Bucky stay with him.

He wasn’t _ready_ to have people in his space 24/7 but at the same time, the sheer immensity of this places was overwhelming. The two things, the two different needs warred inside him as he stared after Clint blankly…

“Don’t mind Clint,” Steve said, clapping Bucky on the shoulder breaking into his thoughts. “He’s a good guy.”

His hand fell away and movement of a different sort caught Bucky’s eyes. He grabbed Steve’s arm, almost drooping his mug in the process, and swallowed.

“Stevie,” he choked.

“What? Buck, are you okay?” Steve asked, turning to face Bucky. Bucky glared and willed his tongue to work, making a frustrated sound when it didn’t.

Instead, he shoved Steve’s sleeve up the rest of the way and turned his arm this way and that to examine it. Steve’s arm had turned to blue sky and white clouds, the stars that had once dotted his arm, joining the countless freckles, were gone and a falcon flew around the new landscape in looping spirals, over the bicep and circling down around Steve’s wrist, beak open in a soundless cry.

Steve followed his gaze and his eyes softened, his smile turning dopey. Whoever Steve’s soulmate was, punk was _gone_ on him.

“Oh, yeah… guess we were wrong,” Steve said, tracing a hand over the falcon that seemed to preen under the touch. “My soulmate wasn’t dead – he just hadn’t been born yet.”

“Who?” Bucky managed, then shook his head. Why did he bother asking when it wasn’t very likely he knew anyone Steve knew? Wait. “ _He_?” Bucky blurted as the rest of what Steve said finally registered.

Steve nodded. “Yeah, Sam. You met, though, uh… it wasn’t under the best circumstances.”

Bucky snorted. He wanted to say ‘way to underplay brainwashing’ to Steve, make him laugh at the lame attempt at a joke, but he choked on the words and couldn’t get them out. Of _course_ Steve’s soulmate would have been someone Bucky had tried to kill. _Way to make a first impression, Barnes._

He dropped Steve’s arm like he’d been burned, his stomach churning. He’d never fit in here – he’d never be _himself_ again –

“Bucky! Hey, Buck, breath, okay? We got this,” Steve said, his face suddenly too close to Bucky’s. Bucky swatted Steve’s hands away and frowned, peeling away from Steve who let him go reluctantly

“’m tired. Gonna sleep.” Each word was an effort – what little bits he’d said here and there, it felt like it was getting _harder_ to talk, rather than easier, each word causing a physical pain in his chest as he struggled to get them out - and he could feel Steve’s concerned gaze on his back as he left the kitchen and headed back towards the rooms he’d been given.

His mind was whirling, a downward thought spiral of self-deprecation and beliefs that he was undeserving and broken and he walked unthinkingly till he stopped and stared about him uncertainly, lost in the maze of the tower.

Bucky’s memory was all shot but it shouldn’t be – he’d always been good at remembering shit, something HYDRA had cultivated and used to his advantage in the short term, all while fucking with his long term. Apparently bucking the brainwashing had shorted out a few other things in the process and had left him disorientated and forgetful.

Leaving Bucky lost, his ability to retrace his steps gone with his boatloads of his memories and no idea if any of it would come back.

His breathing picked up and he stumbled, backing into the wall. His head pounded and he gripped it in his hands. Gasping at the stabbing pains, he slid down the wall and willed it all to go away.

“Hey, hey man, uh, Bucky? You okay?” the words penetrated the haze around his mind slowly and, still breathing fast and hard, Bucky forced his head up, meeting the concerned gaze of the man he’d just met… how long ago now? He’d forgotten that too. Had they met before today? How long had he wandered, lost, only to be found when he least wanted to be? Would Clint tell Steve of this weakness?

If he did, then Steve would never let Bucky out of his sight again and Bucky didn’t think he could handle that. It was too much like HYDRA being on guard for any signs that his brainwashing hadn’t taken hold and needed renewal

And renewal was god damn painful.

But try telling Steve that.

Bucky’s breath was still coming too fast as he stared at Clint, the man’s presence simultaneously escalating his situation and somehow calming him. He stared up at the archer as if a lifeline; at the blonde hair, his sweat stained shirt and the flush on his cheeks, the band aids over the bridge of his nose and across his chin.

He looked like a beautiful disaster as he knelt beside Bucky, careful not to touch him.

Tentatively, as Clint waited for an answer, Bucky nodded.

Clint laughed, a light chuckle, really, but it wasn’t cruel, more understanding. “Don’t kid a kidder. I’ve been there, man. You wanna go back to your rooms?”

Another nod from Bucky, less tentative this time. But he needed help. He needed to –

“C-can’t remember,” he forced out past the lump in his throat, the words a hoarse whisper. His hands clenched into fists in his hair, his breathing picking up again. Too fast, too anxious. He needed to calm down.

“No problem. JARVIS does,” Clint said. “Oh shit, did anyone introduce you to JARVIS?”

Bucky tried to remember, frowning as he thought about it. The name seemed familiar but… he shrugged. Clint looked up and Bucky followed, confused.

“Hey JARVIS,” he said to thin air.

“Yes, Agent Barton, how can I help you today?”

Bucky startled, his mouth gaping open as a different voice echoed through the otherwise empty corridor. He couldn’t help looking around wildly, trying to pinpoint it, before staring at Clint with wide eyes.

“So, doesn’t look like you’ve met JARVIS. He’s pretty much the voice of the building, an AI Tony made. He’s pretty smart, and sassy, too, when he wants to be, and he can help you out with pretty much anything you want,” Clint said with a grin. “Anywhere in the tower, just ask for JARVIS and he’ll be there.”

Bucky opened his mouth to ask if JARVIS was always watching his every move but closed it again when the sound didn’t come. Clint patted his arm. “Don’t worry about it, man. JARVIS is very discrete. Hey, J, can you tell me where Bucky’s room is?”

“Of course.”

“Great,” Clint said, grinning. He stood and held a hand out. Bucky stared at it a moment before accepting it, despite not _actually_ needing Clint’s help to stand, but suddenly he desperately wanted the contact, however brief it might be. Something real, something gentle. As HYDRA’s asset, the only touches he was given or gave had been violent and filled with pain. Steve’s touches still startled him, sometimes scared him with thoughts of ‘ _what would come next?_ ’, of him bracing himself for the pain to follow, but he _needed_ those soft touches, casual things to remind Bucky he was still real and not trapped in that nightmare.

So, he allowed Clint to pull him to his feet and trailed after him as Clint followed the direction JARVIS gave him.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Clint asked at some point along the way.

Bucky shrugged. Clint wasn’t wrong, but it was frustrating that even _when_ Bucky wanted to speak, he was finding it difficult to. Clint caught the look.

“Having trouble trying?” he asked.

Bucky nodded and forced a sound through his mouth that might have been, “Yeah.”

Clint hummed. “Been there myself. Might have a solution for you. Wanna learn sign? Me and Nat know it fluently and JARVIS can probably translate it if neither of us are around. Not sure about anybody else but… it might help when you need a voice?”

Relief flooded Bucky and he nodded firmly, letting a small smile break over his face. Clint beamed back.

“Sounds like a plan then!” He stopped and gestured towards a door. “Here’s your room. I’ll come by later. I need a shower and then something to eat after that workout. If you need me, just ask JARVIS.”

He walked backwards as he spoke and waved, then disappeared around a corner before Bucky could blink. Shaking his head, he turned back to the door and watched it slide open. He patted the wall in thanks, hoping the voice – JARVIS – would understand.

By the “You’re welcome, Sergeant Barnes,” he got from thin air, he supposed JARVIS had.

<~~~~~*<<^^o^^0^^>>*~~~~>

Clint had left Bucky and Steve in the kitchen and debated checking in with Nat or going to the range first. He was insanely curious about how the hell Steve’s childhood friend (and someone who’d been an inspiration to Clint when he’d first started shooting) wound up in the tower, looking a little worse for wear but most _definitely_ not 100 years old.

In fact, aside from the fact that it was James Buchanan Barnes, something about the man was vaguely familiar.

Nat would know, he was sure. But when he got to her rooms, she wasn’t there. Or not answering.

With her, either was possible.

Heaving a sigh, he headed down to the range instead and spent a good hour working up a sweat practicing trick shots over an obstacle course. Okay, so it wasn’t the ‘typical’ range, thanks to modifications he’d asked Tony for (and Tony had gleefully obliged), but it was the kind that Clint needed if he was to keep sharp, to keep up with the rest of the Avengers.

When his timer went off, he cleaned up his arrows and the debris he’d created, intending to go back to his room and shower before checking – _again_ \- if Nat was in or not.

He expected a slow day, maybe some catchup gossip, perhaps a cuddle on the couch because people had a tendency _not_ to touch ex-assassins for some reason and both he and Nat often went about feeling a tad touch-starved (he knew the word because of a therapist he’d had once).

He _hadn’t_ expected to find Bucky curled in on himself in the hallway and having what looked like a panic attack.

Whatever the man had gone through to get here 70 years later, Clint had the sudden conviction that it was way, way less than pleasant. Not that Cap had had a cakewalk of a life but… something about Bucky reminded Clint a little of himself.

He managed to get Bucky’s attention, his eyes looking lost and haunted enough to tug at Clint’s heart. _Awww… sympathy, no_. Last thing Clint needed was to take yet another lost soul under his wing, especially when he was such a disaster himself.

As much as he pretended to his therapist, the whole thing with Loki and the mindstone still gave him nightmares. It’s why he drove himself so hard, went on so many missions.

Well… and the missions were all dried up, now, weren’t they? Clint was gonna need _something_ to keep his mind off his issues. So. Pet project it was.

 _I’m gonna regret this,_ he thought, as he took in Bucky’s pallor, his shakiness. As he took in how alert and on edge Bucky was, how he kept _trying_ to talk but kept failing. Couldn’t help but notice the metal hand, either, though the rest was covered by his clothes. _I can’t help him – I can’t even help myself!_

But Clint already knew he was going to try.

 _I’m an idiot_ , he thought, helping Bucky up.

 _An absolute idiot,_ he though even more firmly even as his mouth was already offering to spend time with Bucky and teach him sign language.

 _Nat’s gonna kill me,_ he thought even as he grinned and waved at Bucky, leaving him right outside the guest rooms he’d been given.

_I’m such a pushover…_

<~~~~~*<<^^o^^0^^>>*~~~~>

Once safely inside, Bucky stared blankly around his rooms, too large and empty, too… impersonal… and shuddered. He didn’t like it. He hated it, in fact. He wanted to turn around and run right back to Steve.

Or Clint.

He blinked. Now that didn’t make any sense… except the man had seemed to understand Bucky, to know where he was struggling, had offered but hadn’t pushed or smothered the way Steve was already doing and Bucky had been here less than two days.

Maybe he should have taken Steve up on his offer to stay in his rooms. Surely it looked more lived in then… then _this_ , but then Bucky remembered Stevie’s hovering, could still see the remnants of injuries he’d left on Steve – _him, **Bucky** , beating up his best friend!!_ \- and shuddered again, feeling suddenly cold, memories of ice creeping in.

A shower, he decided, was just the thing. A hot one. As hot as he could stand.

He spun about the room desperately looking for the bathroom and sighed in relief when he found it. Dropping his clothes, he stepped into the glass stall and then stared at the wall, wondering where the hell the knobs were. It might be the future, but showers couldn’t have changed _that_ much, could they?

He looked around nervously. Clint had said to ask JARVIS for anything he needed. Did that mean the voice was _watching_ him, like his HYDRA handlers always had?

“JARVIS?” Bucky cursed himself for how small his voice sounded.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“Water?” Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why the hell couldn’t he talk like a normal person? What was _wrong_ with him?

“My sensors indicate you’re in the bathroom. You wish to take a shower?”

Bucky’s eyes went wide in horror. “Can y’see?”

“If you are asking if I’m spying on you, Sergeant Barnes, the answer is no. My visual sensors are disabled in all bathrooms and personal rooms as part of Starks Privacy Protocol unless otherwise requested by the occupant. I monitor only the public rooms visually and I answer in any room only if my name is called. I do not eavesdrop, record or report anything done or spoken of in private.”

Bucky sagged against the wall. He’d had more than enough of having his every move monitored and being punished when he did things his handlers didn’t approve of.

Okay, so… that was that. But it didn’t really solve the issue of the water and he _had_ to talk or JARVIS couldn’t help him. He took a breath, then another and braced himself to speak. “H-how does the shower work?”

Fucking finally, Bucky thought, closing his eyes.

“There is a waterproof control panel recessed into the wall just under the showerhead. If you slide it open, you can set the temperature and pressure directly.”

Bucky stepped closer to the wall and ran his fingers over it. The panel was cleverly disguised in the patterned tile but easily seen if you knew to look. He slid it open and revealed a bright screen. It was pretty intuitive and he quickly tapped the slider from icy blue towards red hot, watching the number above it rise. Next to it was another slider – for the pressure? He set it to the middle with a shrug, then tapped on.

Water spurt from the showerhead, instantly hot and he yelped. Showers had not done _that_ before. He’d always had to wait for the water to get warm and then he was lucky if it was lukewarm and it didn’t cut back to cold in less than 10 minutes.

In the army, it was never warm, and HYDRA had just… kinda… sprayed him down.

Pushing at the memories, he shoved himself back under the spray, hoping the heat of the water would help drown them out. It wasn’t enough, though. He reached out and slid the temperature up a little more, till it was near scalding, then played with the other slider and brightened when he realized what it did. Finally happy with the settings, he closed his eyes and let the water run over his body and soak his hair. God, this felt _good_. Warming him to his core, comforting him, wrapping around him like a thick blanket. His bad thoughts slowly melted away under the heat, retreating at last.

He knew that it wouldn’t last, he knew they’d come back when he was least expecting it, but for now, he was going to enjoy it. He stood there a good long while, reveling in the hot water that never seemed to quit before deciding it was time to wash. He explored the wall again and – yes, there was soap and a bottle in another recessed panel. He soaped up his hair first, taking satisfaction in getting it thoroughly doused and rinsed and doing it all over again. He’d seen himself in the mirror, how stringy and greasy it had looked, and he’d winced.

The man he’d once been would never have stood that if he could help it.

Done with his hair, he moved on to his arms and… and his heart stuttered in his chest. As a rule, he’d ignored his soulmark, even before HYDRA. While he was with them, he’d been made to forget and now…

Well, it hadn’t seemed important in the grand scheme of things. He’d just remembered who he was, he didn’t have time to ponder over a reminder of the things he couldn’t have.

When had it changed?

Bucky’s fingers slid over the mark. It had expanded, the mountains and valley’s making room for more sky than was normal. Something moved between the trees on the edge of one, and then a hawk looped out from the cover and flew forward. Bucky searched his arm for his wolf, twisting and turning frantically to find it – but either it was staying out of sight –

Or it was gone.

But where? Who had it gone to and where had the hawk come from?

It had to be somebody in the tower, Bucky eventually decided as he finished up his shower. Not that it couldn’t have been someone else on his way _to_ the tower, lord knows he hadn’t exactly _looked_ at his arm, he daren’t _think_ about the fact that in a city as big as New York, he’d bumped into his soulmate – because how would he possibly find him again?

Besides, the colors were too vibrant, the hawk too energetic, the breeze shifting through the trees too lifelike for his soulmate to have gotten far. And they’d touched. They had to have touched. Flesh to flesh. Or the hawk wouldn’t be staring at him and his wolf wouldn’t have gone missing.

They had to be close

He knew it wasn’t Steve. Didn’t think it was Sam, because Sam was Steve’s. He hadn’t touched Tony, he was fairly sure, and that also ruled out Pepper. Bruce had been skittish, definitely hadn’t touched him. That left Nat, Clint and any number of doctors that had checked him out on his arrival.

It would be like searching for a needle in a haystack, but at least there’d be records of who had seen him, right?

But then Bucky had a chilling thought. What if he found his soulmate, and whoever they were… what if… what if it didn’t _fix_ him? What if they looked at him in disgust and walked away?

Bucky didn’t think he could handle that sort of devastation if it happened. He was already teetering on the edge, too fragile, though he hated to admit it.

Swallowing, he resolved to keep this to himself and only wear long sleeves for as long as he could get away with it. Once he’d healed some, maybe he could try… but for now, it was too risky.

<~~~~~*<<^^o^^0^^>>*~~~~>

One thing led to another and Clint never made it back to Bucky’s room. He’d showered, then finally – _finally -_ found Nat. One look at her, at still healing injuries, and he’d _needed_ to know what happened. At which point, he’d gotten an earful on their new houseguest and the lowdown on what had _actually_ happened in the fall of SHIELD.

Clint stared at her, gobsmacked. This wasn’t the usual catch-up gossip Nat saved for him. Usually it was things like how Jane and Thor had broken up, or how why Pepper was pissed at Tony this time, or that Tony had blown himself up in the lab again. Sometimes it was Bruce having gone off on a sabbatical or adopting a kitten while Cap was recording PSA’s for schools.

He shuddered at that one and reminded himself _not_ to get on Fury’s bad side..

One time, she even confided in Clint that Bruce had started collecting Unicorn figurines because ‘the Hulk liked them’.

Clint hadn’t known what to _do_ with _that_ information.

But this… this was world ending stuff and a hell of a lot of coincidences. Seriously, what were the odds that childhood best friends would both enlist and – through wacky circumstances – both find themselves frozen and suddenly in the future? What were the odds that Captain America’s best friend would be the infamous Winter Soldier?

And now Clint _knew_ where he’d known Bucky from, why he seemed so familiar. They’d run into each other once – well, run into was a rather strong word. Clint had seen him work from a distance, before he’d been picked up by SHIELD, and had skedaddled before the Winter Soldier had cottoned on to Clint watching.

It had probably saved Clint’s life.

Nat sat on the couch in front of Clint as he braided her hair – she was currently growing it out again and it was finally long enough – his legs crossed in front of her in her lap with Nat’s fingers working magic on his poor feet (god, his arches fucking _hurt._ He _might_ be getting too old for the superhero crap. Maybe. It was too soon to tell).

When she was finished telling the tale, letting Clint process everything, she said quietly that she, for one, didn’t blame Bucky.

Clint couldn’t either.

Brainwashed.

_Fuck._

No wonder the guy was a mess. No wonder the haunted look in his eyes had seemed so familiar. Three days hardly held a candle to 70 plus years of torture and conditioning but Clint knew what it was like to be used against your will. To have no say in the matter, your body moving without your permission, to commit atrocities and have to watch your hand being the one pulling the trigger – so to speak.

No wonder Bucky hadn’t wanted to talk about it.

Clint sure as hell hadn’t.

He left Nat, feeling fairly shell shocked. He stumbled back to his own rooms, tripped over his own feet and let himself fall to the couch. He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, rubbing at his temples before yanking his aids out of his ears and dropping them carelessly to the floor.

Fuck if he really wanted to interact with the world right now.

He groaned and covered his face with his hands. With Bucky running around the tower now, Clint had a feeling he’d be forced to face his own demons a little more head-on than he was comfortable with. He’d had a good system of running away from his demons, of ignoring his memories – he’d had plenty of practice, even _before_ Loki - but with Bucky there serving as a constant reminder of what had happened to him, to _both_ of them…

There was no hiding from this, was there?

_Fuck._

<~~~~~*<<^^o^^0^^>>*~~~~>

Bucky wasn’t sure, but he thought Clint was avoiding him.

Then again, he was having a hard enough time forcing himself to leave his own rooms unless Steve had come and got him again, so it wasn’t exactly hard.

The same day he’d met Clint, Steve had come and dragged him to dinner.

He’d winced when he’d seen Nat and saw the remnants of bruises he knew he’d put there. The fact that there weren’t any stitches was a testament to how good she was.

His gaze had slid away from Sam’s glare, unable to meet his eyes, knowing how close he’d come to seriously hurting or killing the other man.

Stevie’s soulmate.

He’d almost _killed_ Stevie’s soulmate.

Bucky had yanked Sam right outta the sky, ripped off his wing and kicked him off a helicarrier so high up in the air Sam wouldn’t have survived without a parachute.

Feeling sick, Bucky had to excuse himself from dinner before he could even sit down, the guilt churning through his gut and forcing its way out and leaving a bad aftertaste.

He almost hadn’t made it back to his room in time, and JARVIS had sent him some little cleaner bots to help with the mess with barely a word, merely an assurance that he wouldn’t tell anyone if Bucky wished him to keep quiet.

Bucky did.

After that, Bucky had been even more reluctant to leave his room, and Clint hadn’t been at dinner and had never come by. The one person he’d done nothing _to –_ so far as Bucky knew – and had been friendly with him and understanding - and Bucky didn’t see him, which had to mean Clint was avoiding him for some reason.

And that made him feel even lonelier.

So he sat on the couch - much more comfortable than anything he’d ever had growing up, when money was so tight - and stared at the tv blankly as it played, or down at his arm. He caressed the soulmark, trying to memorize the hawk that somehow brought him comfort even when he had no clue to whom it belonged, and thanked _god_ that HYDRA hadn’t taken _that_ away from him too.

Steve came by to check on him and bring him food, and by the second day, had managed to convince Bucky to emerge from his rooms again.

And that nobody was avoiding him, they just had to get to know him and they couldn’t do that if he was hiding I his rooms.

Reluctantly, followed Steve back to the kitchen where they promptly ran into Clint.

“Oh, hey Clint,” Steve said. Bucky hung back, slightly to the side of Steve, just far enough to eye the archer who was standing there barefoot, grey sweatpants and a short sleeved purple shirt with a target on it. He didn’t quite look aware of anything and didn’t respond to Steve.

Steve didn’t take offense at being ignored, simply reached out and flickered the light switch to get Clint’s attention.

And that’s how Bucky learned Clint was deaf.

That would explain the offer to learn sign language, why Clint knew it. His respect for the archer went up, seeing how Clint hadn’t let what others would consider a handicap to hinder him in any way and becoming an avenger.

The strange draw towards Clint made a little more sense. Bucky’s arm came up to grasp the metal one as Steve spoke and then he noticed Clint’s.

For some reason, seeing the active soulmate bothered him. It made no sense, and he prodded Steve to find out more, attempting to analyze Clint’s reaction, his words for _anything,_ to try and figure out why it even _mattered_ to Bucky, when Bucky didn’t even _know_ him.

<~~~~~*<<^^o^^0^^>>*~~~~>

Clint was propped against the counter cradling his mug when the lights flickered and he dragged his eyes up to catch Cap and Bucky standing together trying to get his attention. Bucky was drawn in on himself, hair hanging in his face and Caps lips were moving –

Oh right, duh. He focused on caps lips but Steve was moving too fast and Clint was way too out of it for this. He was only catching a few words here and there.

“ – your ears?”

Bucky shifted quickly, his head looking from Steve to Clint and back again. Steve must have asked what had happened to his aids, why he couldn’t hear.

“Gave ‘em to Tony. They’ve been on the fritz since I got back. Finally shorted out this morning,” Clint said. Cap frowned and Clint wondered if he’d spoken too loudly. That happened sometimes.

Bucky’s hand shot out and grabbed Steve’s, then pointed at Clint. Steve looked at him confused – oh, Bucky must be having trouble with his words again. Clint needed to help the guy out and give him those lessons, sooner rather than later… and probably Steve too, or Bucky wouldn’t even have anyone to talk to but Clint and Nat.

Bucky tapped Steve’s arm and Clint’s eyes were drawn downward and he gaped. He hadn’t ever seen Caps soulmark looking like that. Before he could say anything though, Bucky was tapping again and pointing at Clint.

Clint shook his head. “Not me, I’m not Steve’s soulmate.”

Bucky shook his head and tapped again. Steve said something that Clint missed completely and Bucky pointed again.

At Clint.

Clint frowned. Dammit. What was going on? God, he needed more coffee. And his aids. He glared down at his mug when it betrayed him by being empty but before he could refill it, Steve was in his space, trying to get his attention.

“What?”

“-mark. Cilnt, look at your –“

What? What was he talking about? Mark – soulmark? With a sinking feeling, he looked down at his arm and properly looked at it. yeah, there it went again. All alive and shit. He took a sip of his coffee and wondered how long it would last this time.

He looked up. Steve was looking at him expectantly, excitedly and Clint sighed.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Cap. I know you’re excited cause you found your soulmate but my mark’s broken. It does this sometimes. Then it just… reverts. For years at a time. My whole life. I’m used to it.” Clint shrugged and looked away so he didn’t see Steve’s sad face.

He chugged his coffee, intending to book it out of there before Steve could get all sympathetic on him, when something caught his eye.

Or lack of something.

He choked on his coffee and the mug fell from his hands, smashing on the floor with an unheard sound. He gripped his arm and turned it about, panic running through him.

“Where…?” Clint coughed out.

Hands landed on his shoulders and his head whipped up, almost smacking Steve in the nose. He loomed close to Clint, concern in his eyes, Bucky a shadow hovering behind him, peaking over Steve’s shoulder and – shit, he was looking concerned too.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked.

Clint stared at him blankly, mouth still gaping in shock.

“I – I’m gonna go…” he said, pushing Steve away. Steve went easily, holding his hands up and taking a big step back, then another, giving Clint the space he wanted. Clint stepped forward –

And yelped as his foot came down on a broken shard of the mug he’d dropped. He jerked back, slipped and tipped, and would have hit his head on the counter –

But Bucky had leapt forward with wide eyes, hair swinging, and caught him.

“Shit, Clint, are you all right?” Steve asked, worry clear on his face.

Clint tried to wave them both off. “I’m fine. Just a cut. I’ve had worse.” He straightened, tried to stand and Bucky carefully let go, then backed away quickly. Great, he’d freaked out the poor guy. Clint tried to limp forward and winced.

“Buck, help him to a chair, I’ll get the first aid kit,” Steve ordered, automatically in captain mode, taking care of his team, before disappearing. Bucky raised an eyebrow at Clint and held up a hand questioningly.

Clint waved him off. “I’m good. It’s not that far to a chair.”

Steve came back with the first aid kit.

“Honestly, I’m fine. It’s just a scratch,” Clint protested.

Bucky glared at him and Steve matched it, adding, “You could have shards of… of whatever mugs are made of these days, stuck in your foot. Let me look.”

With a sigh, Clint did, studiously ignoring his soulmark.

He must have not looked hard enough. There was no way that after all this time, his hawk had flown the coop.

<~~~~~*<<^^o^^0^^>>*~~~~>

Bucky took off as soon as Clint had been squared away. He’d been hard pressed to stay close with the panic edging in, but he couldn’t _not_ make sure Clint was okay.

Because that hadn’t been a coincidence, right?

He shoved the door shut to his rooms behind him and leaned against it shakily. Shoving up his sleeve, he stared down at his soulmark. The wolf was there as if he’d never gone, and a single feather lay beside him but he was otherwise absolutely and completely alone.

Just like Bucky – or just like Bucky used to think.

Clint’s soulmark was, apparently, newly active – and he’d been convinced it was broken just like Bucky had always figured his was, though Bucky had never heard of a mark that just turned on and off like that.

It suddenly occurred to him to wonder, _What if was because of me? What if… what if Clint’s soulmark blinking in and out of existence correlated to every time I was put on ice?_ He shivered at the thought because he was absolutely, suddenly convinced that was _exactly_ what happened. Like the mark couldn’t figure out if he was alive or dead.

To top it off, Clint hadn’t seemed worried or bothered in the slightest when he explained the oddities of his mark; more like resigned and hopeless, but his unconcerned attituded had changed to shock when he’d actually looked at it. Clint had started to say something, the word “ _Where”_ all he’d actually managed when he looked at his arm, at the mark…

Which meant…

The hawk… it had to have been Clint’s, right?

_Goddammit._

Bucky slid down the door and put his head in his hands.

He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t ready. Didn’t know if he’d _ever_ be ready. He’d been broken _before_ Hydra, and now he was a fucking mess. Couldn’t even speak up properly. He was barely functioning. Dammit. He couldn’t possibly be what Clint would want right now.

Right?

His breathing picked up and he clutched at his hair. Did he even _want_ to be? What was he supposed to _do_ now? Clint was a guy… and that seemed to be okay these days, judging by Steve’s reaction – or lack of one – to the reveal of Sam being his soulmate. So that was a plus.

But it didn’t change the fact that Bucky was still broken, still the same mess he was from even _before_ the war. He didn’t feel _any_ attraction to Clint, even though Bucky found it hard to tear his gaze away from him the few times they’d occupied the same room.

What did it all even mean?

And could soulmates reject each other?

What if Clint rejected _him_ after finding out Bucky’s secret? That bit of himself he’d tried so hard to hide before he was drafted? That only Steve had held a glimpse of?

Bucky’s face dropped onto his bent knees, his arms covering his head.

And why did the thought of being rejected from Clint – specifically, not just a random soulmate he might never meat - already hurt so much?

<~~~~~*<<^^o^^0^^>>*~~~~>

When Clint was in the peace and quiet of his own rooms, he tore off his shirt and dropped down to his couch, turning his arm every which way.

That… had been odd, right? Or no, not odd. Soulmate marks were _supposed_ to do that – once soulmates had found each other, anyway. But Clint’s had never worked right to begin with, so it had to be a glitch or something, he was sure. Or fairly sure. At least 50 percent sure.

Maybe.

He turned his arm this way and that examining every inch. But no, his hawk was right there, cooing from a branch, wings ruffling as it shifted in place.

“Where did you go, little guy? Were you hiding from me?” he asked the hawk. The hawk didn’t respond, of course, because marks didn’t make sounds. Then again, if his _had_ , Clint would never have heard it, would he? Tony still had his aids and without them, Clint’s hearing just wasn’t good enough.

So, retreating to his rooms wasn’t so much for peace and quiet as much as it was for privacy. Cap had looked all too intrigued for Clint’s comfort and Bucky had looked oddly unsettled.

Of course, escape hadn’t gone off without a hitch – when did anything in Clint Barton’s life _ever_ go that easy? – and he’d had to limp back to his rooms with embarrassment following him right alongside the fear that Cap or someone else would come by and interrogate him about his mark and who Clint’s soulmate could be.

The lights flashed, but before Clint could tell JARVIS not to let anyone know he was there, Natasha walked in.

“You all right?” she signed. He sighed and held out his arm. She approached him like a skittish animal and he frowned at her. Even though he sort of felt like one right this moment. She reached him, cradling his arm and looking over it carefully. She let go and caught his eye and moved her hands. “Your mark has come alive before, has it not?”

Clint nodded, shrugged then nodded again, dropping onto the couch and staring at his hawk who was looking about. It opened its mouth to squawk silently, like it was calling something.

“I thought I saw a wolf, earlier,” Clint said softly, knowing she would hear him, even if he couldn’t hear himself. “My mark is a hawk, not a wolf. Nat…” he looked up at her, biting his lip anxiously. “I don’t think there’s anyone else new in this tower that I interacted with except for…”

“Bucky?” she mouthed carefully.

Clint nodded. “It can’t be anyone else, because if it was someone on my way back to the tower, then…”

Then his hawk wouldn’t have returned after having gone missing. His hawk wouldn’t have returned _after_ Steve and Bucky had helped him after he cut his foot open.

No one else had touched him since, and Steve already had a soulmate.

“Is this truly a bad thing?” she asked.

Clint shook his head and shrugged again. “I don’t know! I never expected – I’m not _prepared –_ to have a soulmate! I thought… I’d be alone. And I’m such a mess. He needs someone like _Steve_ , not me. Nat, his wolf looked… scared, wary and… and _skittish_. I’ve never seen a mark behave like that before. If it’s a reflection of how he feels, how can I help him?”

“Same way you helped me, malen'kiy yastreb,” she said. “I was the same when we met. Just be yourself.”

<~~~~~*<<^^o^^0^^>>*~~~~>

When there was a knock on his door, Bucky had been expecting Steve, not Clint, so when he opened it to find the archer standing there, he was too stunned to keep Clint from edging his way into the room, a nervous expression covering his face.

He stopped there, not encroaching any further, but his anxious body language was setting Bucky on edge in turn.

“Wh-wha - ?” Bucky managed.

Clint looked down, bit his lip and looked up. “So, um. I’m sure I’ve got to be the worst choice ever,” Clint said, a little laugh escaping his lips. “But I _think_ we’re soulmates?”

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together. _Think?_ Clint’s words were… were… there was something _wrong_ about what he was saying. Did he not believe they were soulmates? Or that he deserved one?

Then again, hadn’t Bucky been thinking the same thing?

Swallowing, Bucky reached out and touched Clint’s fingers tentatively, and together they stared, watching their marks shift and move into a shared landscape, watching the wolf loping down Bucky’s arms and over their entangled fingers, the wolf stopping below the hawk and sitting on its haunches. The hawk swooped down to land close to the wolf and nuzzled into it. The wolf skittered back a step or two, Bucky holding his breath until it stepped forward again, letting the hawk bury it’s head into the ruffled fur around the wolf’s neck.

His eyes dragged up to meet Clint’s, his mouth hanging open. Clint’s eyes were shining as he stared back.

“Holy shit, it’s real? I’m not broken?” Clint’s voice cracked, but the words reminded Bucky that _he was_ and he yanked his hand back, feeling the absence of Clint’s warmth almost immediately and stumbled back, shaking.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Clint said, hands reaching out before pulling back in on himself. Clint made himself look small, and Bucky found he didn’t like that look. “I know this is a little much, all of a sudden. I’m sorry. I should have… I should have waited… I – “ Clint made a strange sound, his hands fluttered and he backed away. “I’ll just… go? I guess?”

“N-no,” Bucky gasped, eyes going wide. He reached back out for Clint who paused and hesitated before coming back and taking Bucky’s hands once more.

“Breathe, c’mon, breathe with me,” Clint said, squeezing Bucky’s hand. Bucky tried, focusing on Clint as best he could, and eventually his breathing evened out though his voice still seemed lost to him.

“Damn,” Clint muttered. “Now would have been a good time for you to know any sign but…” his head snapped up. “Shape the words, Bucky.”

Bucky blinked at him, uncomprehending.

Clint leaned forward, taking Bucky’s metal hand in his so that Clint now held both his hands. They were on their knees on the floor – when had that happened? – facing each other and Clint was meeting his eyes with a strange glint and a small smirk.

“You can’t get the sound out, and I still don’t have my aids in, but, you can still shape the words. I can read lips if you’re careful, and pick up context for the bits I miss,” Clint said. “It can be hard, but it’s been a boon in the spy business, so I’ve had plenty of practice.” He grinned and Bucky grinned back.

That could just work!

Bucky nodded and concentrated on his words, going slow – not just for Cint’s benefit, but to help him find the right ones and shape them carefully, enunciating without a single sound.

 _“I thought my mark was fucked up, too_ ,” he said. “ _Because **I** was broken.”_

Clint frowned. “What do you mean? Because of HYDRA?”

Bucky shook his head. “ _No. before HYDRA. Before the war. I’ve always been… different, broken. There’s something wrong with me and I always thought… it seemed fitting that my… my mark reflected that.”_

“Wrong how?” Clint asked.

Closing his eyes, Bucky took a deep breath, wishing he could draw strength from Clint’s touch but knowing this could change _everything_.

 _“I don’t…”_ Bucky blew out a breath, frustrated. He pulled a hand away and flapped a hand between himself and Clint. “ _Not really, with anyone. I’ve tried. The furthest I’ve gotten was… with Stevie.”_

“Huh,” Clint said, his tone thoughtful. “You mean, sex?”

Bucky nodded.

“But you’ve _had_ sex, right?” Clint asked.

Shrugging, Bucky half shook his head, half nodded.

“But you don’t _like_ sex?” he continued.

Bucky nodded again, drawing in on himself.

“Just boys, just girls or both?”

 _“Both,”_ Bucky mouthed back. All sound had escaped him, his body trembling. This was it; this was where his soulmate rejected him. but it would be okay, right? Because it’s not like they actually _knew_ each other.

He’d get over it.

Understanding finally dawned on Clint’s face and Bucky closed his eyes against the inevitable rejection.

“You’re ace!”

Bucky’s eyes popped back open and blinked. “I’m _what?_ ” he asked, startling himself when the words exploded from him with a croaking sound.

Clint’s eyes widened and he shifted, settling down beside Bucky, turning them both to lean against the back of the couch and so he could, presumable, still see Bucky’s mouth.

“Right, you grew up in the 30’s. No way you’d know what that was,” Clint said, leaving Bucky no closer to an answer than he was before. “Ace. Asexual. You don’t feel sexual attraction. Sometimes completely no-no, sometimes there are exceptions. There’s a whole thing, I can help you look it up, but it sounds like that’s what you are.”

“Ace,” Bucky said softly, testing the word on his tongue, the sound barely a whisper. He looked over at Clint. “ _You don’t seem angry?”_ Bucky asked.

“Why would I be angry if you’re ace?” Clint asked back.

 _“Because… because we’re soulmates and I won’t… I can’t…I don’t know if…”_ Bucky stopped with a low whine because somehow, someway, he was already invested in this.

In Clint.

How the hell had that _happened?_

Hands drew him into Clint’s shoulder, resting Bucky’s head against a bicep as fingers ran through his hair. “That’s not ever gonna be an issue, Bucky. If you change your mind later, it’s all good, but I’m happy enough with this and, maybe, I hope, a kiss or two,” Clint said. “But it’s okay if that’s too much too. We’ll figure it out. _If_ you can put up with my disaster ridden ass.”

Bucky hummed, relaxing into Clint’s side, relaxing in a way he couldn’t _ever_ remember doing, since before he grew old enough to realize just how tough it was out there, when he went out and got his first job when he was supposed to have stayed in school.

If this was something soulmates did, it would fast grow addicting, Bucky was sure.

“Not. Disaster,” Bucky said. Clint must have caught sight of his lips, even at that awkward angle because Clint laughed, his chest rumbling and shaking Bucky’s head with every lift of his shoulders.

“Uh, did you _see_ me this morning with that stupid mug? Did you and Steve _not_ just patch me up? Fair warning, Buck, that that? Is just the tip of the iceberg. I really am a disaster. Just ask Nat. Or Steve.”

Bucky shook his head. He didn’t have to, because even if he _was_ a disaster, Clint was now _Bucky’s_ disaster, and he didn’t plan to let go.

He _did_ plan to let Clint know that kisses were okay, though, and he twisted enough in Clint’s arms to face him. leaning forward, Bucky dropped a small, barely there kiss to Clint’s lips, then pulled away. Clint stared after him, his tongue darting out to wet his lips and Bucky zeroed in on Clint’s mouth, cupping his cheek with a hand and drawing Clint in for another kiss.

This one turned a little deeper and when they finally broke away, Clint stared after him dazedly. “All right, so… kisses okay, then?”

“Kisses okay,” Bucky said tenderly, giddiness rising when Clint broke in a wide, happy grin. It was like a feedback loop, but unlike the ones he experienced under HYDRA’s control, this was a loop Bucky didn’t mind getting stuck in.

He had a soulmate, and his soulmate didn’t care that Bucky was broken – or not broken, apparently, since there was a name for people like him and Clint hadn’t seemed upset about it – and he was away from HYDRA and maybe it would take a long time, but he was safe, and now he could heal.

And he had a feeling Clint might be able to help him with that, at least a little. It would be slow work, but it would be so damn worth it.

For now, Bucky planned to just revel in his soulmates presence, knowing – without even really understanding _how_ he knew - that he could truly _be himself_ for the first time in his life and Clint would accept it, accept _him_ , every part.

Clint’s fingers teased along Bucky’s arm, stroking the mark while he hummed and Bucky couldn’t help the urge to press another kiss to Clint’s lips.

So he did.

**Author's Note:**

> according to google
> 
> malen'kiy yastreb is Russian for Little Hawk
> 
> Hopefully google has not steered me wrong


End file.
